When a country is in harmony with the Tao,

the factories make trucks and tractors.

When a country goes counter to the Tao,

warheads are stockpiled outside the cities.

There is no greater illusion than fear,

no greater wrong than preparing to defend yourself,

no greater misfortune than having an enemy.

Whoever can see through all fear

will always be safe.

- Tao Te Ching 46

Carson had spent three days in the lab before it hit him. He returned to the hotel that night and gathered everyone into his room, whether they wanted to come or no, not caring if they had a busy day and didn't want to listen to a lecture. This was important. They sat around what served as his dinning table, all suited, looking like they belonged in a top floor business meeting.

"That's why the Wraith can't feed on them. Look at this." He was practically throwing sheet of paper at his temporary team. "It has to do with the genetic enhancement. It's like there are no natural life forces left, and that's a bit unappetizing to the buggers." Carson's voice was full of wonder.

"So they've inadvertently created a wraith-free world," John said, turning the sheet upside down. "Nice. All we have to do is become supermen and they'll leave us alone, too."

"I thought we knew that already," Rodney groused.

"So you are saying these people are not alive?" Teyla asked nervously.

"Don't seem like it," Ronon muttered.

"Oh, they are very much alive," Carson said, and pointed to a set of formulas nestled in the center of the page. "But they are almost chemical machines in a sense, and on a level that I can barely comprehend, to be perfectly honest. I mean, we are all machines, but they are more. . . mechanical in an organic sense." He winced.

"I get what you're saying, Doc," John soothed.

"I can understand some of their research," Carson continued, "but there are aspects of it that doesn't make any sense whatsoever. It leaves me feeling a bit angry, to tell you the truth. And not only that," he turned to Rodney, "it seems they've taken a liking to you. They're asking questions, and to be honest it's making me a bit nervous."

Rodney peaked. "Questions? What sort of questions?"

"Questions about your work ethics. Your stamina. Your commitment to a project. It is idle chat, really, but odd questions."

Rodney swallowed heavily. "All are excellent aspects of my nature, of course, but why are they interested?" He found himself comparing what Carson said with his own conversations with the legit, and felt his stomach turn.

Carson threaded his fingers together. "The best I can understand it is, they are able to unravel the genetic code, and insert bits of the strand back in. This creates a change on the most absolute basic molecular level. The thing is, not all of the change is artificially created. They use live DNA strands as well."

"Live?" John frowned. "Wouldn't that mean . . ."

"Aye. They take it from a live being, yes."

John leaned forward. "Are you saying they want to dissect McKay and lump him into the gene pool?"

"The questions seem to lead that way."

"Do they even know him?"

"Hey!" Rodney protested. He turned to Carson, his concern showing. "Seriously, they want to slice me open?"

"It's nothing like that. Merely removing the tiniest possible strand of your DNA and transplanting it."

"Oh. Well, that doesn't sound so bad."

"Oh, come on," John huffed.

Rodney ignored him. "Is that what this is about?" he asked Carson.

"How do you mean, lad?"

"I mean, the legit has been asking those same kinds of questions." He shook his head. "If he wanted me to help, why didn't he just come out and say it?"

"Wanted you to help . . .Rodney, what are earth are you on about?"

Rodney shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I could stand to stay young, keep working, not lose my abilities due to non-preventable decrepitness." He smacked his palm on the table top. "What the hell. I say let's do it."

"Rodney!"

"McKay, can it." John sighed. "Carson, is he in any danger?"

"Oh, I doubt it. They are merely showing curiosity, but I doubt anything would come of it. We're off-worlders, and they have a fairly strict code of keeping the genetic line within their own kind."

"Wouldn't want to contaminate them," Ronon said wryly.

"Oh, that's funny," Rodney muttered. "Don't I have a say in this?"

"No," the others chorused, effectively shutting him down.

"It warrants more research," Carson continued. "While I'm not proposing we take the genetic manipulation to the level that they have, it would certainly be a benefit to figure out how they have been able to remove the faulty strands. If a person is prone to a genetic weakness, such as disease, and we can isolate it to the degree that they have done, then it would be of great benefit."

"Oh, so now it's faulty strands?" Rodney snapped. "I thought they wanted my genius?"

Carson pressed his lips together tightly as John intervened. "Keep with what you're doing, doc. A bit more study could be a good thing, not to mention we should try and find out just what their intentions are. You," he stood and pinched Rodney on the neck, "come with me."

They rose and entered the hall outside Carson's room, where John released Rodney with a slight shove. "Are you insane?"

Eyes rolled. "What now?"

"Genetic manipulation? You're actually volunteering for this?"

Rodney crossed his arms. "Oh, like it hasn't been done before! Hello? ATA gene ring a bell? No, of course not. Not to Mr. Wave-a-hand-and activate-all."

"You're actually going to stay pissed at me about that, aren't you? You know good and well I'm not the only one that can activate that chair, or anything else on Atlantis!" He waved a hand at Rodney. "Besides, now you've got it, thanks to the good doc! So what's your problem?"

"My problem is, there is a chance I can become even better, as hard to believe as that may be, and everyone is jealous!"

John crossed his own arms, mirroring Rodney. "I thought there was nothing better than genius."

"And I offer them genius!"

"So you're saying you want people around that are as smart as you? What would that do to your ego?"

"The conversations would certainly be more stimulating!"

"I don't believe this."

"I'm saying, if I can stay younger, live longer, then what's the big deal? You know Atlantis needs me, and will for years to come! Where would you be without me, huh? Whale food on the bottom of the ocean, that's where!" He jabbed a finger towards the outside. "Have you seen these people work? How much would that commitment and stamina improve our own situation? Don't you think there is a reason they are as productive as they are? What if the Wraith laid siege to the city again and I couldn't sleep for days due to the workload? What if everyone in the city had this enhancement? Wouldn't it increase our chances?"

John stepped forward angrily. "You need to shut the fuck up," he practically growled. "What you're proposing is pure insanity."

"We're already there, Colonel! Look at the ATA gene."

"That was necessary to help operate the city!"

"And what of Michael? Huh?" Rodney didn't back down. "We're already there, Colonel. Just not on the level of understanding that they have. Now you know as well as I do, once Carson has that understanding, all ethics fly out of the window. Hence Michael. Therefore what I do or do not volunteer for shouldn't be an issue."

John gritted his teeth. "I suggest you watch what you say."

"Or what? You'll send your new friends with their stun guns after me? A more efficient way of killing, less mess." He stood nose to nose with John. "You're caught up in the same game, oh pal my pal. Only rather than genetics or physics, your playing pieces are weapons."

John's fist clenched. He glared at Rodney, his chest burning, every part of him wanting to smack that snide expression from that confident face. "It is a matter of defense." He bit through each word.

"Yes, well, so is this. Level of degrees, Colonel. One day aesthetic weapons aren't going to be enough. Then we'll have to dig deeper."

"I couldn't imagine a world of 'yous' walking around."

Rodney's face hardened. "Pity. 'Cause there's already a world of 'yous' walking around, and I think we'd make a good compliment." He spat out the last word and started down the hall.

"Where are you going?"

"What do you care?"

A hand grabbed his arm, pulling him to a startled stop. "I care!" John yelled.

Rodney looked at him for a moment, at the sudden regret in his friend's eyes, and jerked his arm away. "I'm just going to talk to someone. I won't be gone long."

"Rodney," John said to his back as he resumed walking, "when you go outside, take an honest look around. Tell me this is what you want Atlantis to become." He stayed in the hall long after Rodney had rounded the corner, then made a fist and headed toward the armory.

And the camera that was firmly mounted on the wall, yet out of sight, followed every move.

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Teyla stood in front of the trading center the next morning. She pulled her jacket around her, adjusting the fit as she examined the building that towered high above her. No intimidation, she told herself, focus. She reached for the door, and walked in.

Her meeting was with a Ms. Landerthol. She was there for a job. It was the first time she had ever asked for employment, and with some coaching from Colonel Sheppard, she felt she was ready for the interview process. If she were to be able to produce, she needed to be on the floor. The only way to do that was to become employed.

And so she found herself on the floor an hour later on a trial basis, watching the symbols fly over head, studying them carefully, looking for fluctuations. She didn't yell, as these people did, not yet. They worked so fast, she had to wonder if they were even able to see what was right before their eyes. After about fifteen minutes of studying, she was recognizing a pattern. And she took a seat at her desk, near the center of the action, and watched the symbols. She watched the people walk quickly from one desk to the next, gauging their actions, their signals, the way they unintentionally revealed their thoughts and intentions. And she stared to smirk.

When she jumped up with a quote and yelled to sell, the floor fell silent. Teyla snatched away one of the portable talking devices and spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece, her eyes on the screen on her desk. One lady leaned over and noticed the numbers, and quickly followed suit. The floor suddenly exploded with activity, and Teyla was right in the center of it.

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"It is the battle of man, no matter where he is in the universe," Joseiah said, dipping his brush into the clear fluid. "Nature versus machine. I've seen it many times."

Rodney merely grunted as he studied the canvas before him.

Joseiah managed a smile. "Something tells me you're not up to conversation."

"I just don't want to be lectured on the principles of right and wrong."

"I'm not going to lecture you. You already know. That's why you came here." He chose a bright red, and drew a streak on the canvas.

"What are you, a sage now?" Rodney speared his glass of water with the brush and wiped his fingers in irritation.

"You'll never paint in this state of mind."

"Maybe I don't want to paint."

"You're here."

"Maybe I just needed to clear my head."

"Walking does that."

Rodney realized just how stiff he was, and let himself slump. "Yeah. Guess I should go, then."

"I wasn't suggesting you leave." Joseiah sighed. "You offworlders are all the same. You come here too much in a rush to discover something good to realize that maybe all advancement isn't a good thing." He gestured. "I'll come with you. These fumes are giving me a headache."

Rodney mounted the stairs and emerged into the darkness. The yellow orbs of the streetlights shone above him, haloed in the increasingly damp air. "How often does it rain here?"

"Not very," Joseiah said from behind him. He had pulled a jacket over his paint-splattered shirt, even though the air was warm. He buttoned it. "It is a bit damp out tonight, isn't it?"

Rodney eyed the jacket and said nothing.

They walked down the street, noting that no one was out. The houses were dark; the buildings in the distance were darker. The place felt deserted, yet the unmistakable hum of the city was felt in the sidewalk beneath their feet, showing that somewhere there was still plenty of activity going on. For all he knew, it was coming from within the houses. "Why do you live in the dark?"

"Do what?"

"Every time I see you, you're in the basement with candles. Surely you don't live down there."

"I live above. But I spend most of my free time downstairs."

"And what do you do for work?"

Joseiah raised his eyebrows. "I am a geneticist."

Rodney halted. "You? Wait, you're the . . ."

"Yes."

"Banneth." Rodney rolled his eyes as he came to a stop. "I can't believe I didn't make the connection before."

"Severie Banneth, who owned the laboratory, was my brother. I took over when he died four years ago."

"What killed him?"

Joseiah pointed up. "Those."

Rodney followed his gesture as streaks of red darted across the sky like the brush strokes on Joseiah's canvas. His breath caught in panic, and the ground beneath him rumbled. "What is that?" he squeaked loudly. "Are those missiles?

"Test firing, should we ever be attacked. There is a lot of technology and information that many systems would love to get their hands on." He eyed Rodney. "It is why we are leery of off-worlders."

"You didn't seem so leery of us!"

"You do not have all of the facts at hand."

"I can see that." Rodney spun nervously as another missile streaked over his head. "Where's the target?"

"An abandoned military base just outside the city."

"I assume there's nothing left there that can explode?"

"When I say abandoned, I mean completely."

Rodney just nodded as two more missiles darted overhead. He braced himself for the ground-shattering impact. "Why is everyone indoors?" He was just waiting for doors to fling open and people to rush outside in a panic.

"It is the order."

Rodney spun. "Then why the hell are we outdoors?" He watched another missile fly, and turned to Joseiah in amazement. "You knew about this. You brought me out here to see it. A little laser-light show between friends, I see. Can we go in now before one of us gets blown to hell and gone?"

"You really think that shack would protect us?"

Rodney sighed in resignation as he studied the stairway back behind him. "Point taken."

"Besides, their aim is true."

"True to what they want to aim at, sure." He suddenly felt ill, and wondered what Colonel Sheppard was doing at that moment.

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"What's the range on these things?" Sheppard was watching the mini bombardment from an underground bunker.

"Unlimited."

"Not possible."

"I assure you."

John scratched his chin and watched the small blips on the screen. "You sure that place is abandoned?"

"We conduct tests periodically. The people are prepared."

John turned. "Wait. Not abandoned?"

"Underground, as are we."

John nodded uncertainly, then felt an unexplained chill. He turned and looked at the grim face behind him.

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Rodney followed the last missile with his eyes, wincing at the bright glare and tremor that followed. "How often do you conduct these tests?"

"Once every few moons. I suppose they have the intention of showing off for your friends." Joseiah tucked his hands into his pockets and nodded. " Now he'll see first hand what it feels like."

"What are you talking about?" Rodney's head jerked upward as a whistle sounded in the air, and red streaks soared over head, opposite the way they were first fired. "Oh, no . . ."

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The impact threw John off his feet. "What the hell?"

"It's normal. We'll be fine down here."

"They're firing at us!"

"Of course!"

John cursed and pushed away from the console, rounded on the military man of no easily discernable designation that stood behind him. "Where is Ronon? You sent him to the other base, didn't you?"

"It was best to have this action observed from both ends."

"Son of a bitch! You fired on my friend!"

"As he is now firing on you."

John's brows furrowed in disbelief, and he braced himself as another tremor rocked the bunker. "How old is this place?"

"It will hold."

Another tremor threw John to his back as small debris rained down upon them. "You think so?" he managed to yell from the floor.

"It has been while since we were fired upon," the man yelled back.

"How long?"

"Several years."

"YEARS?" he bellowed. "Get out, now!"

The voice was wooden. "We are well fortified . . ."

"NOW!" But it was too late. The room rained in on top of him.

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Rodney watched as the last missile flew overhead, and thought of the red streaks in Joseiah's painting. "It's beautiful in a way. I remember when At. . .being in an attack. Sheppard and I kept going out onto the balcony to watch the weapons explode against the shield." The sky above him darkened once again. "It was the most beautiful and terrifying thing I'd ever seen."

"War is poetic," Joseiah agreed. "But it still leaves people dead."

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Ronon was driving like a bat out of hell. The odd jeep he'd stolen from his bunker bounced and skidded along the roads, uneasy with the unskilled hands that were guiding it.

Ronon could care less.

First of all, they didn't say a thing about him being fired upon. Much less about him firing back. And yes, he was military, and no, he didn't have such a problem with killing, it was in his blood. But he did have a problem with firing back on a bunker just to prove a point, especially when he found out his CO there.

He hadn't asked. He just left.

The way back was easy. It was a straight shot down the road, set off to the side of the city. He wondered how many other bunkers lined the area, and if maybe their weapons and defense systems were more than they were letting on, because there was no way that setting two bunkers perpendicular to each other made any kind of strategic sense. Not for a place this large. There was no element of surprise. There had to be other defenses other than a storage closet kept underground. Even if that storage closet was easily the size of four jumper bays.

There was plenty these weren't sharing. Ronon gritted his teeth and turned the wheel hard.

There had been no contact. They were supposed to contact each other after the test to see what went right, what went wrong. When there was no response, Ronon merely said, "I'm gone," and left. He couldn't comprehend the almost nonchalant attitude of the people he was with. The bunker would withstand the attack. And if it didn't, they would rebuild. Nothing was said about the people inside. Of course, if he understood Dr. Beckett, they would merely find a way to manufacture more soldiers.

Fires burned around him, not out of control, but neither were they contained. At his bunker, crews were already putting the fires out. Fear clenched in his chest and he spun the wheel again, squealing to a stop before a blackened patch of ground.

The door in the dirt was stuck. He pulled and grunted, and yelled out in fury before it gave. Giving himself no time to think, he started shifting debris and making his way down the stairs.

The remaining walls seemed stable, barely. Dirt was everywhere, beams and machinery fallen and tumbled. Bodies pitched over them at odd angles, a few groaning. He stopped at the side of one man, shifting a beam from him and turning his head carefully.

The man blinked up at him. "Bunker failed."

"I see that. Where is Colonel Sheppard?"

The man pointed behind him and coughed.

Ronon patted his chest and crunched his way through the debris. "Sheppard? Can you hear me?" His voice was deep and powerful enough to cause a rumble in the unstable structure. He cautiously pushed at a door, coughing as dirt and dust rained in around him. The door frame swayed to the side. He caught it to keep it from falling, and it held. Ducking inside, he found much the same scene, bodies laying about, some moaning, machines everywhere. One grey pant leg could be seen, and he lunged for it.

"Sheppard?" Ronon cursed and shoved at the large metal box that half covered the body. He bent down, unable to move it, and yelled in frustration. "Sheppard!" A large hand patted the colonel's cheek roughly.

John coughed and turned his head away.

Ronon smiled, teeth glowing in the dim light. He looked around, but no one looked in good enough shape to help him. He stood and planted his hands firmly underneath the lip of the box, he had no idea what it did but was certain it was supposed to be sitting up, and pushed with everything he had. Beneath it, Sheppard moaned.

It shifted, and finally rolled, and Ronon was back by John's side, gently probing, stopping when John yelled out as his ribs were touched. "Sorry," grumbled the large man, and he again looked around for help. There was no one able enough. That left a hard decision. On the other hand, they were being left to die, and he was better than that.

"This is gonna hurt," Ronon muttered, and lifted John into his arms, wincing and ignoring the cry of pain that was quickly stifled by John's pride. He forced down an "I told you so" and carried him out, placed him in the jeep, and searched for the radio device. There was no static on the other end, no response to his pleas to help the trapped men. He cursed and threw the device down, and dove back inside.

He had three men out before the bunker completely collapsed.

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There was nothing like news of injured to bring a family together, or most of one. Teyla hovered at the foot of John's bed. Ronon was beside him, as was Carson. Rodney had yet to arrive.

"I need to get him back to Atlantis. No way am I gonna let those scoundrels treat him here." Carson placed a cool hand on the sleeping man's forehead.

"They would have left him to die."

"Aye, so you've said." Carson sighed and turned to Ronon. "I take it the other men you pulled out were taken to the proper medical facility?"

"I had someone else drive them."

"You did a good thing, getting them out."

"It wasn't enough."

"It was all you could do." There was a loud knock at the door. Carson turned back to his patient, and looked up sharply as Teyla entered with Legit Barial.

"Most unfortunate," he said, looking down at the sleeping man. "Of course you may take him back through the gate. I will see it is arranged."

"I want to know what on earth possessed you to fire at occupied bunkers!" Carson said heatedly.

"It was not under my authority." He sounded truly regretful. "I merely heard of the incident afterwards."

"You have no jurisdiction over military matters?"

"I oversee the process of the city. Unfortunately it does not mean I have control over every aspect."

"They were shooting missiles over the city, man! How could you not have known that would happen?"

Drawn eyes met Carson's. "Because I was not told," he simply.

"We're leaving." Carson stood and took the gurney that had been provided.

"I should stay here," Ronon said pointedly while moving to stand beside Teyla. His intent was obvious. There was no way he was leaving her on this strange place alone, and they had no clue where Rodney was.

Carson nodded. "I'll be back with a report. In the meantime I suggest you two stay here in this room, okay?"

"You'll get no argument from me," Ronon muttered, but his death glare said different. Which was exactly why Carson wanted him to stay put, and was the reason Teyla put her hand on his arm with reassurances that he would do so. The last thing they needed was yet another confrontation.

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The smells were achingly familiar. John knew he wasn't in Barus before opening his eyes. His aches told him exactly where he was, that and the persistent beeping, even the sheets felt too familiar. It was a bad thing that he knew the infirmary so well.

"How are you, lad?" Carson asked softly.

John blinked up at him. "What happened?"

The doctor sighed and took a seat beside his patient. "You were in the bunker when it was fired upon. Do you remember?"

John furrowed his forehead, trying to remember. His eyes closed. "Yeah. I do now."

"Ronon managed to rescue you and three others. The rest died."

"Rescue not fast enough, then. They should work on that. Ronon . . ."

"He's fine. They should bloody well work on not attacking their own trapped in an underground bunker! And there was no rescue."

John raised his head. "Excuse me?"

Carson leaned forward to place a hand on the colonel's arm. "John, if it wasn't for the fact that Ronon left to find you when he did, you'd be dead with the lot of them. There was no rescue attempt."

"I see." His head settled back on the pillow. "Guess I should thank the big guy."

Carson tried to read John's expression, and decided there were too many emotions flowing across his face to make the effort worthwhile. He patted John's shoulder instead. "You've massive bruising, cracked ribs. Nothing broken, but it will hurt to breath and move for a good while."

"When can I go back?"

"Give it a few days. I have to go back soon myself, as I promised Ronon a report in person."

"They have good weapons, Carson."

"Oh, don't get me started on their bloody weapons!" Carson rose. "You could've died due to their lack of caring! You are supposed to be the guest, the one they are trading with! They tried to kill you!"

"Carson . . ."

The doctor leaned in. "Why on earth do you think they would stick you in an unfortified bunker and fire a weapon at you, lad? They wanted you dead."

John shook his head slowly. "Why? That makes no sense."

"I'm no expert in social graces, but apparently they've found something they want, and are afraid you won't agree to it."

"I need to get back."

"No," Carson pressed him down gently, "I need to get back. You need to rest here, at least for a day. Please, John."

The urgency in Carson's voice made him want to jump out of the bed. "There's something you're not telling me, Doc."

"Rest."

"One day only, unless something happens."

"I'll take that, for now."

"And take Lorne back with you!"

"Aye, I'll do that. I'll be back quick as I can." Carson managed a smile, and hurried out.

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"What do you mean, he's not back? It's been seven hours!"

"He's not here, doc," Ronon said simply. "We've searched the streets."

"I said to stay put!" Ronon merely looked at him, and Carson sagged into a chair.

"I did hear him speak of a man in passing, someone he had become friends with," Teyla supplied. "Perhaps he is with him."

"Great! Where is this man?"

Teyla exchanged a glance with Ronon. "We do not know."

"Aye, wonderful." Carson sighed as a knock sounded. Ronon walked to the door and answered it, flinging the door open wide and leaning against the frame, preventing entrance.

"Uh, yes." The woman that stood there glanced over him, taking in the firm stance made obvious by firm muscles. "Is-is a Ms. Teyla Emmagen present?"

"Who wants to know?" Ronon asked.

"Linsey. I am here." Teyla smiled and gave Ronon a look of warning. "I assume the negotiations will proceed as normal?"

"The Premier is ready for you."

"And I am ready for the Premier," Teyla said firmly.

"Wait," Carson sat up, "you're proceeding with the negotiations? After what happened?"

"I believe this would be a good chance to get the answers we require."

"Oh, no. Love," Carson rose quickly and grabbed Teyla's arm. "This would be a very, very bad time for that."

"If what the legit says is true and the government isn't responsible for the weapons launch, then we can't pass up this opportunity to open trade."

"Someone knew that both Ronon and Colonel Sheppard were in those bunkers! What if whoever is responsible should come for you? What if someone doesn't want us here? And what of Rodney?"

"I must at least talk to them." Teyla was adamant. "Perhaps I can find answers to these questions."

"But. . ."

"Carson!" Teyla exclaimed, exasperated. "As far as I know, this talk concerns only my getting a position as one of their negotiators. It is hardly worthy of this concern."

Ronon leaned in. "Are you ready for this?"

The fire in her eyes was the only answer he needed.

Ronon gave a nod of approval, knowing that this Premier was about to get a what-for. "I'm coming with you."

"That will not be necessary."

"It's not a problem. I'll wait outside."

"That isn't what I meant," Teyla looked back at Carson, and sighed at the adamant gaze staring back. "Very well." She turned fully to face the doctor. "And where will you be?"

He sighed, knowing he couldn't argue her down. "I'll be right here, love." He patted the arm of his chair. "With the good Major Lorne to keep me company."

"Right." Teyla spun. "Shall we go?"

The door closed behind them, and Lorne turned to Carson. "Why are we negotiating with people we don't trust?"

"It isn't so much that we don't trust them, it's just that . . ." his mouth worked, and he finally closed it.

"Mm-hm." Lorne eyed the wetbar. "Care for a drink while we wait?"

"You're on duty."

"Doesn't mean I can't have some water. You on the other hand, you look like you could use a stiff one. And while we drink, you can fill me in." He was already pouring his water, and turned for an answer from Carson.

Who sighed. "Aye, lad. And be sure to make it a very stiff one."